“I shall be happy to answer any inquiries which Mr. Trevlyn may propound, provided they are not impertinent,” replied Castrani, haughtily.

Trevlyn hesitated.  He dreaded to have his suspicions confirmed, and he feared that if this man spoke the truth, such would be the case.

“I am listening, Mr. Trevlyn,” remarked Castrani.

“Excuse me.  In order to make you understand my position, I must beg you to indulge me in a little retrospection.  You are, doubtless, aware that at one time I was engaged to Miss Margaret Harrison?”

“Such was the rumor, sir.”

“It was correct.  I loved her deeply, fondly, with my whole soul—­just as I love her still—­in spite of all.”

“Mr. Trevlyn,” said Castrani, with cold reproof in his voice, “you have a wife.”

“I am aware of it, but that does not change my feelings.  I have tried to kill all regard for Margaret Harrison, but it is impossible.  I can control it, but I cannot make it die.  My wife knows it all—­I told her freely—­and knowing it, she was willing to bear my name.  For some reason, unknown to me, unexplained by Margaret, she cast me off.  I had seen her only the day before the fatal note reached me—­had held her in my arms, and felt her kiss upon my lips.”  He stopped, controlling his emotion, and went on resolutely.  “The next day I received a letter, from her—­a brief, cold, almost scornful letter.  She renounced me utterly—­she would never meet me again, but as a stranger.  She need make no explanation, she said; my own conscience would tell me why she could no longer be anything to me.  As if I had committed some crime.  I should have sought her, from one end of the earth to the other, and won from her an explanation of her rejection, had it not been for the force of circumstances, which revealed to me that she left for the North, in the early express—­with you—­or equivalent to that.  She entered the train at the same time, and you were both in the same car.  That fact, coupled with your well-known devotion to her, and her renunciation of me, satisfied me that she had fled from me, to the arms of—­another lover!”

“Villain!” cried Castrani, starting from his chair his face scarlet with indignation.  “If it were not a disgrace to use violence upon a guest, I would thrash you soundly!  You loved Margaret Harrison, and yet believed that damnable falsehood of her!  Out upon such love!  She is, and was, as pure as the angels!  Yes, you say truly, I was devoted to her.  I would have given my life—­yea, my soul’s salvation, for her love!  But she never cared for me.  I never enticed her to do evil—­I would not, if I could, and I could not, if I would!  Who repeated this vile slander?  Show him to me, and by Heaven, his blood shall wipe out the stain!”

All Trevlyn’s pride and passion left him.  His face lost its rigid tenseness, his eyes grew moist.  He forgave Castrani’s insults, because he told him Margaret was pure.  He put out his hands, and grasped those of his companion.